Melody
by JumpinPopTarts
Summary: A Yummy Batch of ScipioxProsper Oneshots, because there just aren't enough out there! Themes up so far: Melody, Wings...
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone, it's JumpinPopTarts!_

_Aaaaand she's now writing Thief Lord fanfiction (…and abandoning the FMA and SP ones she still has outstanding…*shoots self for disloyalty*). GAH._

_This, as with my **Metal and Fire** FMA fic, will be a **series of oneshots along a theme**. I picked a few words out of a dictionary and so far have:_

_Melody, Coffee, Cold, Hot, Wings, Shoes, Bones, Moon, Stone, Tongues (language), Glove, Footprint, Trail, Three, Two, One._

_The last ones I didn't pick (obviously!), I just thought they'd be good ending titles n'all that._

_ANYWAY._

_**Ratings** for all fics should be PG13, 15 if you're picky. I've tried to keep Cornelia Funke's light style when I write these (most of my other fics tend to get pretty descriptive and mushy). As Scipio and Prosper are both modern and young, that doesn't fit so…mmhmm…hope you all enjoy!_

_**LASTLY;** **Please review**! Whether you love it or hate it…or are indifferent…or have a request for another theme! Any more would be great, the more creative the better (though by creative I don't mean abstract-to-the--point-of-sadistic or gross; 'Trigonometry' or 'Bogey' will NOT go on my title list! ^_^ ). Actually though…I could do Trigonometry…_

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**Fic #1: Melody**

Scipio, Prosper noted, had to be (with the exception of Bo) the noisiest person he had ever met.

Time and time again, as they strolled along the _Grand Canale_, he would hear a familiar pair of boots tapping out a rhythm against the cobbles, kicking a stone or a whole rush of pebbles ahead of him, just to hear the melody. Scipio was a walking orchestra, always drumming his fingers along stone pillars, flicking the fingertips of statues, or humming loudly under Venice's huge cathedral ceilings, laughing as his own voice echoed back at him.

At night, as he lay curled on the floor of the Stella, Prosper would wake time and time again, blinking sleepy eyes, to find the source of the tapping or thumping or whistling or clicking was Scipio, checking up on them in (what he obviously thought was) the silent way of the Thief Lord.

Of course, time and time again, he would then quickly close his eyes, smoothing his expression into one he hoped would pass for sleep. That way, when Scipio knelt by the head of his makeshift bed (with a thump and a curse as he stepped on one of Bo's toys) he would be ready. That way, when Scipio bent slowly down to look at him, he wouldn't move a muscle. That way, when Scipio pressed his warm lips gently down on his, he could coax a squeak out of him by kissing back, his hands bursting from the covers to twine in the other boy's long dark hair.

Then, and only then, would the dancing, laughing, raucous Scipio melt away into something quiet and tender. The Stella, silent now, would vanish around them, the whole world cancelled out by the simple feeling of being together; warm fingers running over cheeks cold with the night air, lean arms wrapping round a caped back, pulling it closer. Their breath mixed in the chill stillness, all sound dissolved into the touch of lips and, sometimes, a tiny chuckle in the back of Scipio's throat which made Prosper shiver from top to toe.

That, Prosper thought to himself, was the sweetest melody of all.

ooooooooooOOOoooooooooo


	2. Chapter 2

**Fic #2: Wings**

Number two! I'd planned to do these in order originally, but this one leapt out at me, so I went for it. I hope you enjoy it.

**n.b**: If anyone wonders later…the bit about the doves and souls is actually a real belief, but it's not from Venice. I forget where it comes from…but it seemed to fit.

**Thanks to all the people who alerted/reviewed this, I really appreciate it! **

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"Just a bit further, promise." Prosper hissed over his shoulder, turning back quickly before he lost his grip on the roof; the Palazzo San Marco stretched out below them, and it was a long, long, _long_ way down.

"If you say so." Scipio huffed from just a few feet below him. His feet, poised on a tiny pleat in the stone wall, were quivering like flags in the wind, his long-nosed mask stuck to his clammy hair. Thief Lord he may be, but trapeze artist he most definitely wasn't!

And Prosper was supposed to be the sensible one!

He squinted up again, just in time to see the boy in question wriggle off the wall and onto the roof of the tower. There was a quick scrabble, a lot of tile-dust…then silence.

"Prop? Hey Prop!" He almost fainted with relief when a tousled brown head popped back into view. A hand followed the head, long-fingered and pale, and waved beneath his nose.

"Grab hold. I'll help you up." He could only nod, forcing himself to let go of the wall. The gutter knocked against his chest, then his knees… then, all of a sudden, he was nose to nose with Prosper, his heart hammering for more reasons than just the climb.

He could still feel where Prosper's hand had touched his; even the ghost of its warmth sent shivers through his blood. When Prosper had insisted earlier that they climb up in time to watch the dawn, he had snorted; why go to all the trouble? But now he felt a surge of gratitude at his romantic streak; behind them the sky was a riot of red and gold, setting every roof in Venice ablaze with light and colour. Now, sitting so close, he could see the shades reflected across Prosper's pale face; giving it a light, rosy tint, like china, that made his fingers itch to touch it. Touch him.

Then Prosper blinked and the moment was gone.

"Sssh." He said, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "This way, and come quietly or you'll wake them." Wake them? Scipio wondered, obeying all the same. His heart sank a little; had Prosper told the others? Were they waiting for them up here?

He'd always hoped they'd be alone…

"Quick! Or we'll miss the sunrise!" Scipio shook his head, but followed with a heavier heart than before.

The roof was circular, its tiled sides rising up like the tip of a witch's cap. An ornate weather vane perched at the very top, shaped like the Lion of San Marco and creaking in the morning breeze. The tiles were old but well made, each one glowing gold with the lights in the sky.

It really was beautiful up here.

Prosper's hand on his elbow brought him out of his reverie. They were kneeling before a small window set into the side of the tower. It, like the tiles, was incalculably old; the glass panels thick and bubbled, made in times long ago when it had to be blown by hand. The pane was framed and criss-crossed with iron rods, each one rough with age. The ornate latch that held it shut had also crumbled, so much so that when Prosper touched it, the window swung open into his hand.

"They're in here." Another whisper, so soft that it was almost lost beneath the creak of the weather vane and the slosh of water far, far below. Taking a swift breath, Prosper eased the window open and slipped inside. Scipio followed (considerably less gracefully) moments later.

The tower was full of ghosts.

Or that's what he thought at first, when the many little white bundles first emerged from the gloom. A moment later he was picking a feather from his hair, and a soft cooing sound filled his ears. Another blink told him the truth; they were surrounded by sleeping doves. They must have made a nest up here long ago, Scipio thought, and with no humans to disturb them, they'd made their perfect little paradise.

"I saw them fly in here the other evening, when I took Bo out to watch the gondolas at sunset." Prosper murmured in his ear. "Mum…Mum used to tell us all sorts of stories about the doves of Venice. They're rare but they're meant to be lucky; some Venetians used to believe that they carried the souls of angels on their wings." He broke off, embarrassed, and looked at his hands. "I…I just thought…you might like them."

Scipio said nothing, but slipped off his cloak and laid it on the floor so they could both sit down. Through the window, the sunrise was in its most vibrant blaze; dark clouds streaking across the fiery centre like fantasy castles or great winged beasts. The Thief Lord amused himself for a moment with the shapes…there was the Lion of San Marco (he could see that in almost everything, being a Venetian), then something that could be an angel…or a rabbit, if you turned your head_ just _so…

Prosper was watching him. He could feel those radiant eyes warming his cheek. He turned slowly, conscious of the doves all around them.

"What?" Scipio murmured, half-embarrassed, half-flattered.

"Nothing." Prosper's smile was wry; his lips holding back the thousand words he wanted to say, but couldn't. The moment hung so fragile between them, so sweet and magical, and neither dared break it.

So Scipio kissed him.

And the world dissolved.

Time passed, neither cared how much, as long as nothing interrupted them. Eventually they broke apart, in long, aching stages, neither willing to let it end. With Bo and Hornet and the others around all day, every day, it was almost impossible to find time to be alone like this. Even this trip was likely to provoke awkward questions (especially if they both came back covered in feathers and tile dust). Every second was precious, every breath to be prolonged and savoured until the next time.

There was a tiny lull after they broke apart. It held the same hushed reverence as a worshipper entering a grand cathedral, or an artist standing back from his work, hardly able to believe he had created it.

The doves weren't the only ones who had found their own private heaven.

"First kiss of the day." Prosper whispered, his silver breath stirring the air between them. He started to say something else, only to break off with a squeak as Scipio leaned in again, scooping him into another long kiss. When they pulled away, the sky was almost blue, and Scipio was grinning.

"And the second." Prosper laughed and leaned his head down onto Scipio's shoulder, his cold cheek drinking in the warmth of the Thief Lord's skin. His laugh stirred the doves and, in one sudden flurry, they poured out from their roosts and into the dawning air, their white feathers glowing like stars in the half-light. Both boys flinched and huddled together, their arms reaching out to bring themselves closer.

For a moment they just sat there, frozen with the beauty of the moment, then Scipio sneezed and both of them burst out laughing again, Prosper pulling the older boy into a hug. They stayed like that, giggling like idiots, until the last of the stars had vanished from the sky.

"I almost wish I was a star." Scipio said suddenly, "I'd get to shine in the heavens all day, seeing everything, and everyone would look up to me if they wanted to know their way…"

"Mm." Prosper murmured. His eyes followed Scipio's to the lightening sky. "But stars only burn for half of the time. The moment daylight comes, all their brilliance and all their warmth…" at this he turned so that he was facing Scipio, his eyes bright with the waking sun. In their depths was the quiet sadness of an orphan, a child with far too much weighing on his shoulders. "…is gone."

Their hands were pressed together in the space between their bodies. Scipio shifted his so that he could squeeze Prosper's cool fingers. His other hand draped around the smaller boy's shoulders. Gently, he took Prosper's chin between his fingers and guided the other boy's mouth to his. There were no jokes in this kiss, the wonder of it completely separate from the exquisite scene below them. There was a promise there, Prosper could taste it, feel it in the line of Scipio's lips, the way the hand that had held his chin before now sifted softly through his hair.

_I know. _It all seemed to say. _I understand. _

_I will never leave you, Prosper. I promise._

A tear ran down his cheek. Just one. Leaving a silver trail over his skin. It tumbled slowly into the darkness between them, and was gone.

Scipio drew him closer as the last of the doves lifted from their perches, their soft white bodies like lace, like phantoms, shimmering as they flew into a brand new sky.

And Prosper's heart flew with them, up and up and up, warm with Scipio's kisses and the currents of morning air; light, soaring, free…

Just like…

Wings.

**ooooooooo0000000000000oooooooo**

This is dedicated, of course, to my dear wifey Mary, but also as an early **Valentine's Day Present** for everyone, **Happy Valentine's, People!**


	3. Dreams

Dreams

_**HEY PEOPLE I'M BACK!**_

_First, **thank you all so much** for your wonderful reviews! Every single one has made me smile (even the person who said PropScip was 'kinda sick' - the fact that they're not a slash fan and still read it is good enough, I guess!). **Yummy double-chocolate-chip cookies** for you all._

_Second! **SORRY. Yes, I know I suck** and it's been ages with no updates, but I DO have an excuse! Basically, I wrote 3 more chapters -around the same time as I wrote the last chapter, actually- and **my computer ate the document**. I can't find it anywhere, so kept putting off writing more until I'd found it....but I gave up yesterday (or, rather, 4am today) and decided to scribble this one! It's not even on the theme list but whatever. _

**Okay, I'll shut up now.** _**Hope you like!**_

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Scipio often dreamed of what it would be like after the roundabout had worked its magic, for him to walk with an adult's spring in his step, to survey the world with the same piercing eyes as his father, only without his cruelty. His vision of the grown-up world was hazy; blurred visions of alcohol and music and staying up long enough to see the dawn. Of shiny leather shoes, sharp ties, space and freedom. But, in those dreams, it was Prosper that he thought of most.

They would grow together, of course, share everything, like brothers. Later, when Bo was older, they would get a flat, on one of the canale's maybe, with two bedrooms for appearance's sake.

They would sit every morning by a small window, he decided, watching the lagoon sparkle in the sun. There would be coffee, toast, jam and Prosper's sleepy smile. There would be hands resting lightly on knees, fingers brushing in the shade beneath the table.

Most importantly, there would be Prosper's face; his morning light and his setting sun. Every morning he would kiss that face as he left for work, smoothing those soft curls out of the way, hearing that light laugh, seeing the slender arm waved in farewell, all the while knowing that in a few hours they would be together again.

A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see Prosper smiling down at him. The lights of the Stella cast a soft glow over his face; still smooth, still young.

Still beautiful.

He returned the smile as easily as breathing. Dreams were only dreams after all, and in the depths of his heart he knew that, whatever the roundabout did or did not do, as long as Prosper was beside him, nothing would ever be better than this.

oooooOOOOOOOOOOOooooo

_**I'msosorryit'ssoshort!!!!** This honestly is nearly a page on Microsoft Word!! Gizza review and I'll write more, promise!!_

_*click*...?_


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